


I don’t cry

by Multi_Fandom_Mouse_Rat



Category: Handsome Devil (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27713102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multi_Fandom_Mouse_Rat/pseuds/Multi_Fandom_Mouse_Rat
Summary: Ned’s had a rough day, and for the first time in ages gets quite tearful. His new friend Conor tries to cheer him up a little.
Relationships: Conor Masters & Ned Roche, Conor Masters/Ned Roche
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	I don’t cry

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know if I made it clear but this story takes place only like- maybe a hand full of days after Conor and Ned started becoming friends, so the barrier isn’t down yet

Now here’s one thing you should know about me. I don’t cry. Not for anything, in front of anyone or alone. Not when my dad ran off to Dubai because he’d rather spend time with his girlfriend. Not when Weasel gave me a bloody nose for the first time. Hell even when I was as young as six years old, I didn’t get teary eyed easily. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been fuckin close plenty of times, but I’m not bad at keeping everything down, deep. Well thats a bit of an exaggeration. There is one thing, but I think it’s pretty normal. My mum.  
It’s not like I have a break down any time I think of her or anything, maybe that’s got something to do with the fact I don’t think of her, at least I try. This particular story just so happens to have taken place on what would’ve been mums fortieth, if she hadn’t, you know. Died.

Like all her birthdays after her passing, I didn’t get up to much that day besides to get to classes, other than maybe, slightly, perhaps inciting a fight between myself and Weasel. It wasn’t my fault though! And I suppose it wasn’t much of a fight either. All I did was raise my voice for that one time, I wasn’t going to take his shit, not that day. Not my smartest of plans. Fucker had sprained my wrist along with given me the usual few bruises. The nurse said I should be able to get back to playing(if you could call it that) guitar in maybe three or four weeks. Great. Not only was it my dead mums birthday, I was on the verge of a breakdown all day, got the shit kicked out of me, but NOW I wouldn’t even be able to practice the chord mr.Sherry taught me, or even the one my roommate had shown off for what could take a month.

Speaking of my roommate, it was pretty weird to think about our slowly growing...friendship? Camaraderie? What ever it was. But at that point I still wasn’t fully trusting, I wasn’t about to let down all my walls(metaphorical and literal) over someone maybe liking music, the guy was still a rugby player after all. So the Berlin wall was still standing, it was crumbling, getting smaller with every book or box removed from it. But it was still definitely there. Where Conor was I didn’t actually know though, it could be presumed he was still out training. That was good.

After that nightmare of a day, sitting on my bed, music turned up and trying to write a stupid essay for a while, my hands got shakier and shakier, both because. Ow. My hand was still sprained but like the genius I am I tried to push through. I couldn’t think about anything other than my mum. Before she went, every time it was her birthday she’d drag me away from school for one week. She’d tell teachers every year that I’d gotten the most terrible cold, when in reality me, her and sometimes my da’ would spend the whole week living every kids dream. Going out to get ice cream one day, staying home for a movie day the next. When I asked her why on earth she chose to spend her birthday week with me, her snot nosed kid who could barely run a lap without being out of breath, do you know what she said? She told me that the best birthday present was seeing me happy. To this day I still call bullshit, but those words made me feel so special. Gods sake look at me, getting all sappy. 

After a while longer of desperately trying to write with a shaking and wrecked hand, the real hindering factor came in the form of tears. The drops began landing on my essay, seeping into its paper and smudging the ink. As much as I tried, they wouldn’t stop, my lip biting clearly not doing anything to help. I finally gave in and threw my essay to the side, my bed making its unpleasant creaking noise as I curled up in it like a sulking and whimpering child facing the wall, my hand in front of me as I looked at the bandages that wrapped my wrist, it certainly hurt, that’d make sense given if I can’t play guitar, how the hell was I gonna write a three page essay? 

Since I didn’t do it often, as you could imagine, I wasn’t the the prettiest crier. My dad once told me that when I’d cry as a baby, my face would go as red as my hair, I wondered if that were still true. My face was all scrunched up, it felt really hot, large gloopy tears streaming down my lightly freckled face as I periodically had to wipe away or sniffle up snot that was practically a liquid in itself at that point. Don’t bottle up your feelings kids, it looks pretty wrank when they come spilling out.

“Ahem..”

The sound I made in reaction to my roommates familiar fake cough was one I can’t even describe to you, maybe try to think of a startled goose with a cold. My head swiveled immediately to see Conor awkwardly peering over the barrier again like that night before. My good hand fumbling to turn the music off.

“JESUS- FUCK- Why the HELL are you here!?”

“I mean, it’s my dorm too y’know..”

“...So you heard..”

“Yup.”

“..all of it?”

“Yeah.. I actually got here before you did.”

No way. It wasn’t a normality for us to greet each other when we’d come into the dorm but I always at least NOTICED when Conor was in the room, at least I thought I did. We were in silence for a minute.  
I almost forgot about how snotty and..leaky my face must have looked in that moment, only remembering when I let out a sniffle. At the realisation of what a state I was in, I turned my back on the brunette, once more looking at the wall. Fuck was this embarrassing.

“Can you just piss off...please..?” I asked, a small hiccup managing to escape me at the ‘off’ bit.

Conor has told me since then that this was probably the most nerve racking thing he did that day, which in my opinion isn’t saying much, but it’s still sort of nice in a way. 

I had my eyes clenched shut as I waited for him to say something, or perhaps to hear his own bed creak when he sat down. But no sound came until I could feel my mattress dip down at a certain part with its usual noise, Conor Masters had sat himself on the edge of my bed. The absolute audacity! I had half a mind not to yell at the bastard to get back to his own terf, but I couldn’t manage it, I couldn’t even look at him.

“..so..Ned..”

That was all my roommate could seem to offer up. I didn’t reply.

“I heard you fell down the stairwell earlier..”

I couldn’t see him, but I imagine he gestured in my banged up hands direction. I let out a very short, hollow chuckle.

“Again? You’d think he’d get more creative.”

“Who?”

“Who d’you think?”

Conor went quiet again, but he didn’t leave either. This caused me to slowly sit up right, wincing as I stupidly put pressure on my sprained wrist before turning to look at the rugby player.

“Weasel, Conor. I’m talking about w-“

“I got that much!”

“Ok!”

More awkward silence, only broken by me wiping my nose with my sleeve.

“Gross.”

I chose to ignore that. “So what do you want?”

“..I dunno.. I just- You don’t seem like the crying type is all..”

“I’m not crying.”

“Come on-”

“Ok? So what? Come to gloat have you?” 

I knew he wasn’t trying to take the piss. Especially by the hurt expression that appeared on his normally stoic face. I felt like I’d just kicked a puppy.

“..I didn’t mean-“

“Why do you act like everyone’s out to get you all the time?”

He asked, his tone now disgruntled as he began to push himself off of my bed. Normally I would’ve just let him leave, but when I felt this sort of...this twinge of pain in my chest, my good hand instinctively reached out, tugging onto an edge Conor’s blazer. I didn’t want to be alone.

My hand quickly retracted, realising what I’d just done. “Sorry!”

“..It’s alright.”

My roommate let out a short titter, giving me a small smile. I returned the smile reluctantly, not having the heart for any eye contact. I didn’t object as Conor sat back down, it gave me sort of relief in a way.

“So is that why.. you’re crying? ...Weasel?”

“Nah..”

“...”

“And no..”

“..and no what?”

“And no I’m not gonna tell you why I’m actually weepy” 

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were thinkin’ it though” 

He gave me a small playful shove. It made me flinch at first, but soon enough I shoved him back, it made us both chuckle a bit.

“Hey.. Gimme your hand for a second”

“Em..ok?”

Conor rolled his eyes even though I’d technically done what he asked.  
“Your other hand, genius.”

“Oh! Right-” I awkwardly switched from my good hand to my mucked up one.

I was pretty hesitant, every other bloke in this school avoided me as though I was this gay plague ready to infect them. But Conor didn’t even think twice. I was also surprised to find how gently he took my hand in his, you’d expect a rugby player who fights almost as a past time would be heavier handed. He was like the big friendly fuckin giant sometimes.

He grabbed the pen I’d attempted to write my essay with that I’d abandoned on my bed and used it to begin carefully writing his name on the bandage wrap that was on my hand.

“This is very thoughtful and all but I don’t think you’re supposed to sign bandages-”

He looked up, still writing. “Why’s that?”

“Isn’t it more of a cast thing?”

“Well..yeah..”

“I also have to change them every three days-”

“I’ll just have to do it every three days then, won’t I?”

This had me go quiet, I just ogled at him as if he had just given me a million pound. It was just a small, kind of stupid gesture, but to literally go and sign your name on ‘the bender™️’ of the school was quite brave.

“And~ done!”

I looked at his signature curiously. It was a bit shit looking, but that was to be expected, the ink didn’t take too kindly to the bandage, the ink feathered out a lot, and it looked like Conor had forgotten the ‘n’ in his own name, so he had to add it real small above it with a little arrow pointing between the two o’s. It looked like the brunette had felt bad for his name looking a bit messed up, so he compromised by adding shoddy stars around it. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning at it. 

“What d’you think?”

“I mean, it’s no masterpiece but it’s..cool. Thanks..”

Neither of us had seemed to notice my hand was still in his for a bit, but he did eventually pull away quickly looking away, and my eyes just wandered to a specific spot of the ceiling.

“So... you’re alright now, yeah?”

“...I think I am, yeah..”

“At least your face doesn’t match your hair anymore”

“Pfft- Fuck off.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure if I did that well but this was fun! I’ve never written anything in first person before but since the movie is generally narrated from Ned’s perspective I thought I’d give it a shot. One reason I sort of struggled is because I’m still not entirely sure which I like more, the idea that Ned and Conor are a romantic item or a platonic one! This might be an unpopular opinion but two gay leads just being friends makes me really happy for some reason. But at the same time Conor and Ned would be really cute as a couple! Anyways, I didn’t think I’d be making a fic about these two but here we are, please tell me if y’all like it!


End file.
